But I have found sweeter peace than fame; And in the evening dwell on heights divine, Betwixt my lips a rose from Cupid’s hands, Upon my brow the laurel Belvidere Entwines from tree beside the throne of Zeus And flowing from my speech Athene’s words Dipped long in wisdom’s fount to heal the soul. JESSIE FAUSET “Philadelphia where I was born and educated was once the dear delight of my heart. But everything in my life has contrived to pull me away from it. First I travelled to Cornell University and came back with a Phi Beta Kappa key and a degree of Bachelor of Arts. That launched me. Since then I’ve seen England, Scotland, France, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy, Austria and Algeria. The College de France and the Alliance Francaise have given me some points on the difference between the French of Stratford-atte-Bowe and that of Paris. And there was a pleasant year too at the University of Pennsylvania when I renewed my acquaintance with Philadelphia and earned a Master’s Degree. So much for education. As to occupations I’ve taught Latin and French in the Dunbar High School in Washington, D. C. And served as Literary Editor on the _Crisis_ in New York. Wonderful days those! Now I’m teaching French again in the City of New York which at present claims my love and allegiance. Like the French I am fond of dancing, and adore cards and the theatre probably because I am a minister’s daughter. All my life I have wanted to write novels and have had one published. But usually, in spite of myself, I have scribbled poetry.... I should like to see the West Indies, South America and Tunis and live a long time on the French Riviera. Aside from this I have few desires. And I find life perpetually enchanting.” WORDS! WORDS! How did it happen that we quarreled? We two who loved each other so! Only the moment before we were one, Using the language that lovers know. And then of a sudden, a word, a phrase That struck at the heart like a poignard’s blow. And you went berserk, and I saw red, And love lay between us, bleeding and dead! Dead! When we’d loved each other so! How _could_ it happen that we quarreled! Think of the things we used to say! “What does it matter, dear, what you do? Love such as ours has to last for aye!” --“Try me! I long to endure your test!” --“Love, we shall always love, come what may!” What are the words the apostle saith? “In the power of the tongue are Life and Death!” Think of the things we used to say! TOUCHÉ Dear, when we sit in that high, placid room, “Loving” and “doving” as all lovers do, Laughing and leaning so close in the gloom,-- What is the change that creeps sharp over you? Just as you raise your fine hand to my hair, Bringing that glance of mixed wonder and rue? “Black hair,” you murmur, “so lustrous and rare, Beautiful too, like a raven’s smooth wing; Surely no gold locks were ever more fair.”